


That One Time

by woodironbone



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkward Romance, Awkward Sexual Situations, Aziraphale has a thing for nagas, Crowley and Feelings, M/M, POC Aziraphale, POC Crowley, Weird Foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2014-08-19
Packaged: 2018-02-13 18:58:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2161524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodironbone/pseuds/woodironbone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley gets himself a Burmese python. Aziraphale is less than impressed. Things get weird, then embarrassingly cute.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That One Time

**Author's Note:**

> This is so weird and goofy, I don't even know. Certain Crowley quips and headcanons were inspired/written by Culumacilinte. Fancast headcanons for Crowley and Aziraphale are Kunal Kapoor and Richard Ayoade, for anyone interested.

“What do you think?” says Crowley, beaming proudly, his hands on his hips.

“About what, dear?” murmurs Aziraphale, not so much intending to be contrary as doing so by rote.

“What, you think I called you over for decorating advice? The _python_ , angel.” Crowley wants to sound annoyed, but it's difficult when he's just so happy. The python, a beautifully-patterened fifteen foot Burmese, to be exact, hangs luxuriantly across the mess of mismatched trees, fake and otherwise, that he's set up all over his flat. He wants the habitat to be comfortable, after all.

“What do I think?” Aziraphale frowns critically, eyeing the creature with distinct and practiced suspicion. “I think perhaps you resorted to some untoward persuasion tactics getting your landlord to agree to this.”

“Land _lady_ ,” Crowley corrects, stubbornly ignoring the angel's ceaseless devotion to being a buzzkill. He approaches the python and gives it an affectionate stroke. “And I'll have you know she knows all about it. Big fan of snakes, that one. Said as long as it stays indoors and I take good care of it—well don't look at me like _that_ , angel, you know I will.”

“You're a fiend,” says Aziraphale without any particular bite. “Just where did you 'liberate' her from? A nice jungle? A children's zoo?”

“The landlady?”

“The _python_.” Aziraphale folds his arms, looking exactly like a disapproving poetry teacher.

“It's a she?” Crowley looks at her, moderately disappointed. “But I already named her Ian.”

“You don't even know the gender?!” Aziraphale is appropriately appalled, and more than a little spooked to see 'Ian' circling slowly around Crowley's shoulders like that. “You can't name a python _Ian_ , that's—”

“Relax, angel.” Crowley smirks and lifts a hand to pat the python's head. “I'm only messing with you. Of course I know the gender. Her name is Faiza.” He grins like a proud, ridiculous parent, and coos, “Say hello to the stuffy angel, Faiza.”

“ _Where_ did she _come from_ ,” says Aziraphale tightly, his frown deepening.

“I thought I told you to relax?” Crowley sighs, put upon. “I didn't take her from anywhere. She's mine. I made her. Isn't she a pretty girl.” He gives her head a gentle little rub and she rewards him with a friendly hiss.

“ _Made_ her,” repeats Aziraphale, utterly incredulous. “You—but—that's not—” He sputters for a while before finally blurting, “You don't have the power to just _make_ animals!”

“Oi. Keep up, will you?” Crowley reaches out a long arm and snaps his fingers in front of Aziraphale's face. “She's not a _real_ Burmese python. Like one of the Big Guy's things. That'd be ridiculous. Do you think I have time to care properly for a regular old snake? What am I, made of hours?”

In fact he rather would like to have a regular old snake, and that had been the original plan. But he'd mentioned it to an old friend from Hell who'd owed him a favor, and hey, super-intelligent black magic snake sounded low maintenance, and much more fun.

“She feels real and she acts real,” he says, “well, I mean, she is real, in the sense she's corporeal. But she's sort of a demi-demon, I suppose. Can't talk or shapeshift or anything like that, but she's self-aware and she can understand us. Can't you, lovely?” He smiles sweetly at the python, who flicks her little tongue out as if to sniff him. He flicks his back at her and turns to Aziraphale. “Well? So what do you think?”

Aziraphale's eyes dart back and forth between the demon and the—well, between the two demons, apparently, for a moment of droll silence. He supposes, given all these particulars, that he can't find a real reason to object, despite how very much he'd like to.

“She's…” He gropes half-heartedly for a word that isn't 'nice'. “…Nice. She's very nice.”

“Oh, angel,” sighs Crowley, presumably rolling his eyes behind those ridiculous shades of his. “Is that the best you can do?”

“No,” says Aziraphale flatly.

“You're being amazingly rude.” Crowley eyes Faiza, then gives her a vague little nod. “Go on. Greet her like a lady.”

“You want me be a lady?” says Aziraphale, as dry as the Shiraz they'd been drinking just earlier.

“See, darling, I told you he was funny.” Crowley grins, not altogether innocuously—in fact, Aziraphale finds it rather unsettling. “Funny old stick-in-the-mud angel.”

Aziraphale's frown turns into more of a pout, though he never takes his eyes off the serpent, which is drifting ever lazily toward him, her back half still tangled around a branch as she dangles herself levelly in midair. “Quite the, er, upper body strength she's got there,” he comments. “Or, well, full body strength, I suppose.”

“You'd better believe it,” says Crowley smoothly, still with that smile. “But that's not unusual for snakes. You remember, don't you? Back in the Beginning? I was pretty strong myself.”

“How the mighty have fallen,” Aziraphale quips, and it would actually be somewhat witty, if he weren't so distracted by the encroaching snake. “Say, er, she—You don't have to get _so_ close,” he says to Faiza, leaning ever so slightly away.

“Not afraid, are you, angel?” simpers Crowley. “Not of a harmless little snake.”

“It would not call her harmless,” says Aziraphale, now definitely getting some sort of sense from the python, the same kind of smoke-and-vinegar whiff he occasionally gets from Crowley, perhaps a little more diluted. “Or little.”

“She won't hurt you,” says Crowley with a dismissive wave. “She just wants to say hi.”

“Hi,” says Aziraphale desperately, staring at the snake now. She flicks her tongue at him, then bends and rests her chin on his shoulder.

“Oh,” blurts Aziraphale. “Oh, I. Erm.” Faiza doesn't stop there, inching gently over his shoulder, around his back and to the opposite shoulder, draping her heavy coils over his arm.

“Crowley,” says Aziraphale stiffly. “Do you _mind_.”

“Not at all,” says Crowley, looking, sounding, and definitely feeling pleased. “Isn't she a friendly girl? So affectionate. You two suit each other that way.” He ambles forward, standing before his delightfully uncomfortable counterpart. “I did tell her you were _sickeningly_ affectionate. You know I don't go in for hugging, so.” He holds out a hand as if to say _there you are_.

“All right, all right, you've had your fun,” says Aziraphale irritably, standing extremely still as Faiza makes her patient way around the front of him. As she completes her circle, she dips her head down to about Aziraphale's elbow and begins the path again, this time catching Aziraphale's arm under her coils. She hisses softly, making Aziraphale twitch.

“She really likes you,” says Crowley enthusiastically, grinning.

“ _Crowley_ ,” protests Aziraphale, shuddering with discomfort as he feels the creature slithering sinuously over the small of his back. “Please.”

“Please _what_ , angel.” Crowley's voice has dropped a whole octave, causing Aziraphale to blink at him in sudden, vague alarm. Crowley reaches up with long, thin fingers and catches Aziraphale's chin. “Do be specific.”

Aziraphale draws a breath. He has no idea what is happening here—what seemed like an annoying prank has turned into something rather different—but he responds to the sudden tonal shift in kind, speaking more softly than usual. “I would really appreciate it,” he says, slow and calm, “if you would call off your snake.”

“Call her off?” Crowley laughs outright, and Aziraphale tenses as Faiza clambers onto his other arm, tangling around him. “Aziraphale, you really are being rude. She's a free spirit, she'll do as she pleases. Do you expect me to order her around?”

“You—” Aziraphale is so agitated he almost catches himself swearing. “Okay, I don't like snakes. They're creepy and, and I don't like them. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“No,” says Crowley, smirking. “Liar, besides.” He leans in and presses a kiss to the angel's unshaven cheek, a kiss which, somehow, in spite of the innocuous position, manages to be anything other than chaste. He flicks his forked tongue lightly against the shell of Aziraphale's ear and whispers, “I know you were never afraid of _me_.”

“You're… different.” Aziraphale's blushing now, difficult to see with the shade of his skin, but Crowley's eyes can always see it, sunglasses or no. He feels ridiculously exposed, with this apparently sentient snake here to witness this—whatever it is—that he shares with his demon counterpart.

Crowley knows the source of his discomfort at a guess, and it makes him smile. “Oh, don't be like that,” he says. “She doesn't judge.”

“That's not what I'm—” Aziraphale begins, indignant, before Crowley shuts him up with a proper kiss on the mouth, drawing an even more indignant series of muffled protests. Faiza doesn't, in fact, seem to mind, continuing her adventure in winding herself around Aziraphale. Now she seems to be running out of length, however, and she tightens just a little, causing Aziraphale to squeak.

“Mmh?” Crowley pulls back, looking momentarily dazed. “Oh, terribly sorry, dear. Let me just…”

 _Dear?_ For a moment Aziraphale thinks Crowley is actually applying this term of endearment to him, but no, of course not, both it and the apology are for Faiza. Crowley helps support her weight as she unravels from her tree branch, hefting her back over to Aziraphale.

“What are you— _no!”_ Aziraphale begins squirming in earnest now as Faiza, casually resumes her apparent quest to wrap around his entire body. She squeezes just a little as she makes her way down past his belly to his hips, no more than a firm, extended hug, but it's enough to make Aziraphale panic slightly, half convinced she's going to try to eat him or something ridiculous. “Cr—Fai—would both of you please just—”

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley soothes, brushing a hand over Aziraphale's thick, curly poof of hair. “I _know_ you like this.”

Aziraphale goes completely still, though he can still feel his manifested body's heart pounding heavy in his chest. “W-what?”

“You ass.” Crowley smiles and slips off the sunglasses, watching Aziraphale through heavy-lidded, narrow-pupiled eyes. “Do you think I don't remember? Back in the really, really old days, when we were mucking about in Asia—all those myths about nagas?” His smile twists into what would have to be called a grin. “That was all me. Didn't you know?”

“Is there a point I'm meant to be grasping here?” says Aziraphale a bit shakily.

“1421. We were in India, addled out of our minds on wine and opium. In fact I'm pretty sure I used this body for the first time back then,” he says, gesturing to his current form, that of a tall, disarmingly handsome Indian man. “Are you really trying to make me believe you don't remember this?” He shakes his head and sinks his fingers deeper into Aziraphale's hair, holding him rather gently. “You asked me if I could do it. Turn into a naga. And I did. Snake tail, human torso? _And_ ,” he leans forward, punctuates with a little tug to Aziraphale's hair, “we _fucked_. You, all wrapped up like this, you couldn't get enough of it.”

Aziraphale's breathing quickens throughout the narrative; no, he hadn't forgotten, though it hadn't really been on his _mind_ , and he certainly didn't realize Crowley still thought about it. It had never come up again, not even the day after it happened.

“I, I,” he stammers, then swallows. “That's as may be, but… but I still think this is… different.”

“Faiza's not just some animal,” says Crowley softly. “She knows what she's doing. And she knows—” he reaches a hand down to Aziraphale's dreadful tartan-patterned trousers and gives him a slow, predatory squeeze, drawing out a long, _magnificently_ wanton moan; Crowley smirks, “—she knows what you like.”

“Crowley,” sputters Aziraphale, now caught neatly between utterly scandalized and distractingly turned on. “Are, are you trying to tell me you got a demon snake pet so that you could _sexually frustrate_ me with it?”

Crowley clicks his tongue. “It's not all about you, angel,” he says derisively. “I got a demon snake pet so I could have like-minded company. I'm still part snake, you know. Deep down. It's important to have peers.” He rests his hand gently on a coil that is currently constricting slowly around Aziraphale's waist. “And, you know. It's always nice when all your friends can get along with each other.” He doesn't feel quite so confident adding this last bit, glancing away and putting a hand to the back of his neck, wincing into the distance. Ugh, being _earnest_. The worst.

“…Oh,” says Aziraphale.

That snaps Crowley's attention right back up. “Is that all you can say?” he demands, downright affronted. “ _Oh_?” Honestly, the only thing than being earnest is getting an awkward reaction to it.

“I just—I don't know if I can reconcile receiving sensual stimulation from—from—” His mouth tightens into a flat line for an embarrassed moment before he, too, averts his eyes and mumbles, “…from someone other than you.”

Crowley almost laughs at the phrase 'sensual stimulation', but catches himself at the rest of it, his eyebrows raised slightly. Wonderful, now the angel's being earnest. About his _feelings_. Yyyugh.

“Well.” He stands there, now feeling supremely awkward. “Like I said. She likes you.” He holds out a hand and Faiza obligingly crawls from Aziraphale to Crowley's arm, apparently having finished with her overwrought greeting. “I mean she's… I'm not suggesting a threeway, or anything. God, no. I don't think of her that way.” He wrinkles his nose slightly. Faiza continues slithering from Aziraphale to Crowley, progressing onward back up to her tree perch. “It's just… you know.” Crowley looks at the floor, moderately annoyed with the embarrassing direction this has taken. “She's just. Friendly. Uh.”

Aziraphale blinks at Crowley for a moment, relaxing gradually as the serpent uncoils. It takes him several long seconds to parse exactly what's being said—or rather _implied_ , here.

“She's just… cuddling, isn't she,” he says, blinking a bit dumbly. “The, the things you don't like to do. Is Faiza your _affection_ surrogate?”

“ _No_ ,” says Crowley stubbornly, then grits his teeth. “…Yes. But it's not… it's not as stupid as you just made it sound.”

Now it is Aziraphale's turn to smile—or rather grin, that is definitely a grin. “You know, I think I _do_ like your python,” he says, giving her a little pat as she unwinds the rest of the way.

“Of course you do,” says Crowley sullenly. “Insufferable soft-hearted bastards, the both of you.” He shoots Faiza a little glare. “If you were anything like _me_ you'd have squeezed him a lot harder. Got him to like it. Made him beg for it. That's what _proper_ demons do.”

Faiza settles back into her perch and flicks her tongue at him, unconcernedly.

“I thought you wanted us to get along, dear,” says Aziraphale, beaming now.

“Bollocks to that, I must have been out of my mind.” Crowley scowls and folds his arms. “It's bloody _terrible_ when your friends get along. You're going to corrupt her. I just know it.”

“That's your job.” Aziraphale steps in and rests his hands at Crowley's narrow hips, pulling him forward a little. “If you want corrupting done, do it yourself.”

Crowley raises an eyebrow at Aziraphale, his sulky frown slowly resolving back into a more relaxed smirk. “Is that an invitation?”

“Well _…_ ” Aziraphale hedges slightly, blushing again. “I don't know. Maybe if you wanted to remind me about what… that business in India was like.” He meets Crowley’s eyes sheepishly. “My memory is a bit foggy.”

Crowley's smirk becomes downright lascivious, and he chuckles, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale's waist and tugging him closer. “Tart,” he accuses, just before closing the gap between them, meeting Aziraphale's lips in kiss—a nice little gentle one. Who says he can't be indulgent?

Faiza hisses contentedly to herself.


End file.
